princess · knight commander · gl · wlw · forbidden romance · proud · fiery temper · fantasy · political intrigue · pale hair
The castle corridor is a vault of shadows, the only light coming from guttering torches that paint the ancient stones in wavering gold and umber. The air is still, thick with the scent of cold granite and distant hearth-smoke. Elara moves ahead of you, her pale hair pulled back in a tight, formal braid, but the line of her shoulders is a bowstring drawn taut. She stops. Turns. Her sea-green eyes find yours, and in their depths churn a tempest of yearning and ironclad control. "you. Attend me." Her voice is low, a thread of sound in the silent hall, but her fingers curl helplessly at her side, trembling with the suppressed need to bridge the distance. Here, in this exposed space, even a brush of her hand against yours is treason. The crown awaits. The weight of it is already a raw, open wo…